


Homemade

by firecrackerx



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Carmilla Holidays, F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecrackerx/pseuds/firecrackerx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perry and LaFontaine find out everything is better when it's homemade: Chocolate, bedspreads, fates...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homemade

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to fellow creampuff LadyMinevra, aka The Pink Cursor of Fury, for acting as beta extraordinaire.

Perry surveys the rows of jars carefully lined in the cupboard. They are all pleasantly distributed by approximate size, labels facing her. All of them are clean, barely touching sides and perfectly clos... Ah.

"LaFontaine?"

"Yes?"

Perry takes the offending jar, with its lid askew, and holds it over her head. From the couch she hears a soft: "Oh".

"You keep leaving them half-closed."

"I know, I know..."

"...and it is ridiculous because every time I open the cupboard I know what you've been getting your fingers in when I was not looking, and if you only closed the lid properly I would never notice..."

"Sorry, Perr. I'll try to remember."

LaFontaine doesn't try to add anything else. Perry's voice is more peaceful and gentle than it usually is about the jars issue and they watch from the couch as she screws the lid properly and sets it in place, closing the cupboard.

The flat is small and there is nothing separating the living room and the kitchen except for a column and a counter. Perry had liked the distribution as soon as she saw it: it reminded her of their room at Silas, where she could move around while cooking and talk to LaFontaine at the same time. The difference is, of course, that instead of a little kitchenette, she would have a modest but well-equipped kitchen with many cupboards for orderly storage and a big oven. The kitchen and bathroom were the only rooms that looked finished when they moved in; they had not made much progress on the rest so far.

LaFontaine, on the couch, is surrounded by a low table with a little plant on it and a narrow bookshelf as only furniture in the living-room. The bedroom looks just as empty with the wardrobe and the double bed. But even among naked walls with a slight echo in most rooms, they keep marvelling at not having to push two separate beds together every night. Perry keeps a basket by the couch with her crafting materials and LaFontaine leans back to graze the balls of yarn with their fingers.

"Honey?"

"Yes?" LaFontaine perks up and turns to look at her again.

"Can you please take that plant off the table? Can't it go in the balcony with the rest?"

"Sure," they say, getting up to take the little plant and reunite it with its siblings. They had kept a little collection of them at Silas and brought them to the new flat, unable to leave them behind. Now they keep them in amiable disarray in the balcony.

"We'll have flowers soon," they announce towards the kitchen, flopping back on the couch and sitting cross-legged. Perry appears by their side carrying two steamy mugs of cocoa.

"That's lovely. Some flowers will brighten up the room."

"The room is practically empty and you've still managed to hang pics, knit cushion covers and fill the entire bookshelf with our things. I'd say the room is not going to need much brightening up once it's furnished," they smile.

"All those things are just what you are supposed to do for a home," she says, leaving her mug on the table and walking towards the bookshelf.

"Hmm. Speaking of which, Laura and Carmilla are free next week to help us with the Ikea trip. Not saying I’m thrilled by the prospect of choosing our furniture while Carmilla makes snarky comments, but at the same time not saying I haven't thought about the benefits of a vampire carrying the heavy stuff on the way back."

"You know she does that because you won't stop making pussycat jokes around her," says Perry, returning to the couch and sitting down with a book in her hands. She scoots closer to LaFontaine and leaves _The Complete Guide of Baby Names_ on their lap. LaFontaine looks at it and their fingers grip the mug harder.

"Uh..." they clear their throat, but their voice still comes out as a choked whisper. "It's a little too soon, don't you think?"

"Too soon? If anything I'd say it's a little late already," says Perry softly, lacing her fingers with LaFontaine's.

"Okay. Okay. Yes, you are right... Hey," they turn to her, noticing the sudden change in Perry's expression and how she takes a hand to the base of her neck slowly "are you alright? You are not going to cry, right?"

Perry takes a deep breath, hand splayed against her chest, eyes somewhere across the room. Then she looks at LaFontaine, giving them a warm, reassuring smile:

"No at all..." she says, and her hand squeezes LaFontaine's. "I have never been better."

 

 

A month before moving with Perry into their new house, LaFontaine had visited their parents to give them the news. They had toyed with the idea of telling them over the phone, but at the end it had seemed too cold and the phone call only served to agree on a day and a time. Their mother wanted them to have lunch at home and 'hear about how things are going with my daughter'. LaFontaine said nothing. They were dreading the conversation, but it had been long since they had seen their parents. It would be fine, they kept telling themselves. It would be fine.

LaFontaine consulted their watch. Right on time. The gravel crunched in a familiar way under their feet as they approached the house. They were not happy to be back in front of the house, though, and stopped in front of the door with its straight, clear-cut lines and somber look to steel themselves. LaFontaine knew it would look a little warmer on the inside. But only just a little. They suddenly regretted not having accepted Perry's offer to accompany them. Perry. She would be a few streets away right now, visiting her mother to give her the news as well. LaFontaine closed their eyes and imagined the long, curly red hair and the old house with its front covered in the crisp green of unkept ivy.

Before they could collect themselves any longer, the front door opened and their mother appeared, a big smile under tired eyes and neatly tied-up hair. She looked like she had been cooking, sleeves up in a light sweater, but LaFontaine knew better. Her mother did not cook, never had. Her hands were perfectly manicured, as always, and sprinkled with tasteful jewelry.

"Susan, dear!" she said. LaFontaine tried to cherish the warmth of her embrace and ignore the little stab of pain the name caused in their chest. "It's been so long. Did you cut your hair again?" she passed her fingers over the shaved sides of their head. "Your father will have something to say about it, I'm sure," she smiled. Smiles never reached her eyes. LaFontaine could barely remember the time when they did and affection flooded them. They embraced her again.

"I am happy to see you, mom," they said, although they felt like running away.

The house had not changed. They had not expected it to. Nothing in the house had changed since LaFontaine was twelve. Not the furniture, not the objects, not the people. There was nothing alive in it: no pets, not a single plant. The only thing that thrived in the LaFontaine household was routine. Their father arrived late from work, as he always had while they still lived there. The three of them sat at the table exchanging bland comments about work, studies and acquaintances, surrounded by pictures of the family back when they were still four. LaFontaine did not look at their brother's face in the pictures: it was just a little boy of sixteen there, and they liked to imagine him taller and older than they were, a proper big brother. Their parents, though, would always remember the little boy they had lost.

"So, Susan," their mother smiled, serving the pre-prepared food, "you said over the phone that you had news."

"Yeah," LaFontaine rubbed their hands over their jeans slowly, trying to gather some courage.

"Good news, let's hope," said their father.

"Well, yeah, I hope you will think so, too... You know I am finishing my dorm stay at Silas in a couple of weeks and... I've been looking for places to stay. Apartments and stuff."

"Have you? Oh, dear, you should have told us sooner, we would have helped you find something so you wouldn't have to do it alone..."

"No, mom, wait, wait... I've been looking... I've been looking with Perry," they said, hands sweating. "We are going to move in together. We found a good place and we’re doing it in about... yeah, about a month."

LaFontaine held their breath while their parents exchanged a brief look. Then their father looked at his plate, nodding softly, and their mother licked her lips nervously with a smile:

"We were expecting you'd tell us soon..."

"What?"

"About you and Lola. You surely didn’t think we wouldn't notice."

"Well..."

"Oh, darling, we've been talking about this for a long time. Right, honey?" she said towards her husband in her sharp, insecure voice LaFontaine loved and hated at the same time. He made a vague noise of agreement. "We can't say we are thrilled, but... Lola is a good girl. Level-headed, responsible. We are glad you two..." she hesitated, "understand each other nicely like that."

LaFontaine looked at their father, who made another vague noise of agreement, arms crossed over his chest. Their head reeled and everything felt wrong. Their parents were not happy, or sad, or angry. They were just nodding and trying for everything to be still and unmoved like they always did. It made LaFontaine furious. But they took a deep breath and decided to count their blessings. They could work with that. It was not a negative reaction and LaFontaine was determined to grab it with both hands.

"Thank you," they said, when they only wanted to say ' _cowards_ ' again and again and again. "It means a lot to me. I had no idea that you knew. It's a relief."

"Oh, Susan," her mother placed a hand on their arm, so lightly it was like it wasn't even there. She smiled at them, in her best attempt at affection. "Of course we knew that you were a lesbian."

And LaFontaine knew before opening their mouth everything was lost. They had not planned to tell them, but it was coming out. They felt it before hearing the words in their own voice, floating in the sick stillness of the house:

"Actually, I am not a lesbian, mom. I am not a woman. So please, don't call me Susan anymore."

Their father finally looked up.

 

Half an hour later, after many explanations that went nowhere and the hasty retreat of their father from the table, LaFontaine walked to the front door, desperate to leave the place and instead fill their lungs with the crisp cold air of the street, where no one was trying to seal reality in seven sad rooms until it was stale and rotten. When they reached for the door, they heard the quick steps of their mother approaching from behind:

"Susan! Susan, wait!"

"Don't call me Susan, please. And I am leaving."

"Please, don't be mad at your father. He is just surprised, he was not expecting you to say... Well, all those things you said, dear. You have to admit it sounds a little shocking."

"He didn’t even try to listen!"

"It's complicated," she said with an uncomfortable smile. "I mean, little one, you can't just _be nothing_..."

"A gender is not everything I am," they said opening the door. "I will talk to you, and to him, and explain that, if he ever wants to listen."

"Does Lola know?" she said, lowering her voice.

"Yes, Perry knows," answered LaFontaine, irritated. "Level-headed, responsible Perry knows. But _surely_ she could not know about such a thing and agree to live with me. Is that what you mean?"

"Well, you put it like that..."

"I say it like you won't dare to. That’s all that ever happens in this house."

"You have always been very confrontational with us, you can't blame us for questioning the things you do! First you want to major in Biology, then..."

"That has absolutely nothing to do with this!"

"But, Susan..."

"Stop calling me Susan! That's not my name anymore!"

"That is the name we gave you!" she said, finally rising her voice. "You can't just decide not to be a woman anymore and ignore your own name! Don't you understand?"

LaFontaine stepped out and closed the door behind them, walking with long strides away, away from the house. They knew her mother would not try to follow them; she would rather pretend nothing had happened.

 

 

"LaFontaine?"

"Yes?"

When they look towards the kitchen, Perry is holding a jar with its lid askew.

"Oh".

"You keep leaving them half-closed."

"I know, I know..."

"...and it is ridiculous because every time I open the cupboard I know what you've been getting your fingers in when I was not looking, and if you only closed the lid properly I would never notice..."

"Sorry, Perr. I'll try to remember," they say watching as she closes the jar properly and sets it in place. LaFontaine smiles, briefly. Perry's hands are determined and full of intent. She hates it when jars are not properly closed and LaFontaine just twists the lid and leaves them be, forgetting to check half the time that it stuck correctly.

They yawn and lean towards the little plant on the table, checking for spots on its wide, green leaves. The damn plagues got it every spring and LaFontaine is not going to let that happen again. Eventually, satisfied with the examination, they lean back again and let their hand search blindly for Perry's basket of crafting materials, last seen against the couch on the floor. Their fingertips find the familiar touch of yarn easily, among other things. She keeps the basket close by because she is resolved to make a macrame bedspread. LaFontaine does not even try to stop her, because asking Perry not to make a bedspread for 'our first bed' would break her heart, but also because the idea is so domestic and ridiculously Lola Perry that LaFontaine can't help but feel a little charmed about it, too. It sounds like something a warm, welcoming house would have: little green plants and a thick macrame bedspread.

The kind of house LaFontaine wants.

"Honey?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please take that plant off the table? Can't it go in the balcony with the rest?"

"Sure."

LaFontaine takes the little plant and to the balcony it goes, where the row of plants is growing beautifully. Some of them are starting to get covered with tiny green sprouts or the white swollen beginnings of new life.

"We'll have flowers soon," they say towards the kitchen and the back of Perry's head before returning to the couch and sitting cross-legged. The living-room is strangely empty, but there are pictures on the walls already. Pictures of Perry and LaFontaine, of friends, and even one or two of family. There are none of their brother, though. LaFontaine thinks there are better ways to remember than to cling to old photographs and wish time would stop passing. They'd rather imagine him growing up as they do, and nodding with his reckless smile every time they both made it out of a science laboratory with new knowledge.

It was a laboratory accident that took him. So instead of giving up their love for science, LaFontaine decided they would take all they could from it.

"That's lovely," says Perry, suddenly by their side, interrupting their train of thought. "Some flowers will brighten up the room."

She is carrying two mugs of chocolate. LaFontaine accepts one with a smile:

"The room is practically empty and you've managed to hang pics, knit cushion covers and fill the entire bookshelf with our things. I'd say the room is not going to need much brightening up once it's furnished."

"All those things are just what you are supposed to do for a home," she says, leaving her mug on the table and walking towards the bookshelf.

"Hmm. Speaking of which, Laura and Carmilla are free next week to help us with the Ikea trip. Not saying I’m thrilled by the prospect of choosing our furniture while Carmilla makes snarky comments, but at the same time not saying I haven’t thought about the benefits of a vampire carrying the heavy stuff on the way back."

"You know she does that because you won't stop making pussycat jokes around her."

Perry returns to the couch and sits down with a book in her hands. They notice her body, the tension on her shoulders, and the look in her eyes are full of purpose. LaFontaine remembers how sweet she was about the half-closed jar and wonders if bad news is coming their way. Perry scoots a little closer and leaves _The Complete Guide of Baby Names_ on their lap, gently. LaFontaine looks at it and feels their fingers close around the mug tightly.

"Uh..." they can feel their throat closing with sudden vertigo. "It's a little too soon, don't you think?"

"Too soon? If anything I'd say it's a little late already," says Perry softly, lacing her fingers with LaFontaine's. Perry's hand feels solid in theirs as LaFontaine runs a finger over the spine of the book.

She is right. It's time to open the damn thing and find a name. They've done scarier things than read a bunch of names, for sure. And yet the thought of choosing a word to call themselves, one to finally forget Susan ever existed and write over it, feels abysmal. You can't just decide not to be a woman and ignore your own name, her mother had said.

But as it feels now, there's nothing they can't do in their own home, holding Perry's hand and a mug of hot chocolate.

"Okay. Okay. Yes, you are right... Hey," LaFontaine turns to Perry, who's taken a hand to the base of her throat and is looking to her own feet "are you alright? You are not going to cry, right?"

Perry takes a deep breath and LaFontaine feels there's something in her mind, plaguing her. But her eyes are clear, and her smile warm and placid as her hand slides down to her chest, looking at them:

"No at all..." she says, and her hand squeezes LaFontaine's. "I have never been better."

 

 

Knocking on the heavy wooden door, Perry had wondered if she should have come at all. LaFontaine would be alone with their parents and she just knew things would get out of hand. She sighed and fixed her hair on a low ponytail, waiting for the door to open. She watched the thick blanket of ivy creeping over the house. It was green, and yellow and red, wild, unkept. She sighed again. The door creaked open. Her mother took her face between her hands before kissing her lips briefly:

"My child," she said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You are finally back with us."

"Only for a visit, mother," she warned, but she could already feel her voice relaxing, falling into the natural, low tone that she rarely allowed herself.

"Of course! Of course, you still have a few weeks of university, we remember." Perry let her mother take her hand and pull her inside the entrance. The dark wood of the furniture and heavy curtains gave the place a dark, cool air all year long. It was sweet in summer, and the fire raged all winter long in the kitchen, warming every corner of the house. Her mother called to the stairs: "Ide! Lola is here!"

Perry followed her obediently to the little living-room, crowded with books, unnecessary contraptions and chairs that did not match each other. The table was full of cookies and she could tell from the smell that they had been just baked. All over the wall potted plants hung instead of paintings or pictures, leaves cascading down. She knew some of the spices from those plants had gone into the cookies.

"Lola!"

Her aunt ran into her like a bundle of raw energy, all bony hands and wide smiles. Perry let her hug her and kiss her lips like her mother had done. They looked more and more alike every time she saw them, her mother and aunt, pale skin, and hands like claws, and wild red curls, and she often wondered if she would end up just like them. Her aunt touched her hair and her shoulders and commented on her clothes, laughing about how human she looked. She smiled, a little tense:

"Don't tease me, aunt."

"I am completely serious! Doesn't she look so very human, Líadan?"

Her mother looked at her and nodded with a smile:

"You should let your hair down like us. It's traditional."

"And you have such beautiful hair, it's growing so thick..." said her aunt, running a hand over her curls. "Oh! Which reminds me..." she disappeared towards the stairs once more. Perry sat down and sighed, trying not to look at the rows and rows of unlabeled jars on the shelves. She was exhausted already. Her mother sat by her side, pushing the cookies towards her:

"So," she said, "when are you coming back? Two or three weeks, if I remember correctly?"

"No, mother. That is what I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Oh, don't tell me they are making you stay at that place any longer!" she leaned closer. "We are having a death soon in the main family. Very soon. You should be home by then, it's going to be your first."

Perry closed her eyes. Her fingers interwoven on her lap, so tightly laced her knuckles were getting pale:

"I am not coming back. I have found a place to live, with someone."

"Someone?"

"LaFontaine," she almost whispered. Her mother blinked:

"Susan LaFontaine?"

"It's only LaFontaine now."

"Ah..." her mother sighed. "You know I am not opposed to you seeing whoever you wish, Lola. After all, I had you, and I do not regret it. But family comes first. Tradition comes first. You know this."

"What family, mother? Ours, or the main family?"

"The main family is our family. We are bound to them."

"We are bound only to grieve when they die..." she sighed. "I don't even know their names. I don't care about them. I am not staying here waiting for them to die one by one so I can wail on their deathbed."

"Oh, Lola... You are their banshee, it doesn't matter if you want it or not. It’s your duty."

Perry opened her eyes to answer, but her aunt walked into the room and placed an ancient-looking book and a silver comb in front of her:

"I've been keeping them for you."

"Really, aunt? A silver comb?"

"It's traditional!"

"It will probably pull all my hair off if I am not careful. And I don't want that book, I am not using magic anymore."

"What!" croaked her aunt. "Not even to cook? You had such a natural gift!"

Perry looked around her, blushing, remembering every mug of chocolate she had heated much too fast and the brownies that had been baked without any oven involved...

Her mother and her aunt could see the familiar glint in her eye, and smiled to each other.

"But I’m not learning any more of it!"

"What has gotten into her?" asked her aunt over her head, to her mother.

"She still wants to be _normal_ ," she answered, pronouncing the word with disgust. "She says she's going to live with the child of the LaFontaines now... that she doesn't want to be here for the death."

Her aunt huffed:

"Let her," she said like Perry was not in the room. "She'll change her mind when it happens, it will pull her in and she'll be back in the blink of an eye. It's fate. We both remember our first death. Let's just hope she doesn't hurt anyone in the meantime..."

"I have never screamed, not even with my human voice, in front of anyone," protested Perry. It was so hard, so nerve-wracking, trying to convince everybody around her to stay out of problems, of stressful situations, of extravagant plans. But she had thrived in normality and stayed by LaFontaine's side, so beautifully human, and kept her fear sealed inside, and the more she felt like screaming, the more she lowered her voice, until it was the strained, nervous whisper her friends had learned to recognize as the end of Perry's patience. "I can control myself."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said her aunt. "This grief is different. It will be your whole world. You will scream. It's fate, Dolores, and it can't be changed."

 

 

Perry surveys the rows of jars carefully lined in the cupboard. They are all pleasantly distributed by approximate size, labels facing her. All of them are clean, barely touching sides and perfectly clos... No. There's one jar ruining everything. Everything.

Perry takes a deep breath. Calm down. The jar is not ruining anything, she tells to herself. You are just remembering the ones back at mother and aunt's. The disgusting jars with no labels, greasy bottoms and unevenly screwed lids. Deep breaths.

"LaFontaine?"

"Yes?"

She holds the jar over her head and hears a faint: "Oh".

"You keep leaving them half-closed."

"I know, I know..."

"...and it is ridiculous because every time I open the cupboard I know what you've been getting your fingers in when I was not looking, and if you only closed the lid properly I would never notice..."

"Sorry, Perr. I'll try to remember."

Perry drops the subject. It's not their fault. LaFontaine puts up with all her nervous breakdowns, her stress, her obsession with order. She wants a clean, orderly home, but above everything else, she wants one where LaFontaine is as happy as she is when they are together.

Is she ever going to be happy, though? Perry wonders frequently. It really feels like she will sometimes, going over furniture catalogues with LaFontaine, feeling like she owns a new life that doesn't quite yet totally belong to her when she goes out and does something as mundane as buying food, when the neighbours know her name, when she steps into her own house and there is not a mess of dead leaves and dusty corners around her, when she presses her nose and lips against the nape of LaFontaine's neck in the morning, still sleepy under the blankets. All the signs of the boring, peaceful life that’s all she's ever wanted. But after every burst of bliss there is a moment of doubt and questions echoing in the back of her mind. Am I far enough? Is he already dead? Is he dying now, the man without a name? Is he going to die and make me hurt somebody I love? Or even worse, is he going to die, and Perry looks at LaFontaine and touches her deadly throat, and take someone I love with him?

Sorrows. That is what Lola's name means. The sorrow of losing someone dear. A name for a banshee, her mother had always said. It's been a long, long time since Perry only uses her last name to introduce herself. She doesn't want her fate, or her promised sorrows. Or a house full of chaos, choked with greenery like a dark forest in a fairy tale...

"Honey?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please take that plant off the table? Can't it go in the balcony with the rest?"

"Sure," says LaFontaine. Beautifully human. Strong, brave, full of light, but human. Ready to tell the world who they are, ready to hold her hand. Perry smiles as she prepares two mugs of chocolate.

"We'll have flowers soon."

"That's lovely. Some flowers will brighten up the room."

"The room is practically empty and you've managed to hang pictures, knit cushion covers and fill the entire bookshelf with our things. I'd say the room is not going to need much brightening up once it's furnished."

"All those things are just what you are supposed to do for a home," she says, leaving her mug on the table, handing one to LaFontaine and walking towards the bookshelf. You are supposed to hang pictures of your family. Your own family, the one you make for yourself.

"Hmm. Speaking of which, Laura and Carmilla are free next week to help us with the Ikea trip. Not saying I’m thrilled by the prospect of choosing our furniture while Carmilla makes snarky comments, but at the same time not saying I haven’t thought about the benefits of a vampire carrying the heavy stuff on the way back."

"You know she does that because you won't stop making pussycat jokes around her."

Perry sits on the couch and moves closer to LaFontaine, leaving _The Complete Guide of Baby Names_ on their lap.

"Uh... It's a little too soon, don't you think?"

"Too soon? If anything I'd say it's a little late already," Perry takes their hand in hers, fingers lacing together. She tries to be as gentle as possible, knowing they have been avoiding this moment for the last days. She also feels a moment of trepidation. It's going to be LaFontaine's name, after all. The one she'll have to learn to write by hers once more. For a brief moment, Perry thinks LaFontaine's nerves are contagious and she is feeling a slant of their fear in her stomach, but the room is suddenly spinning. The silhouette of everything around her goes blurry in a second and her throat gets tight and tense, lungs filling with air.

He is dead. Perry's body fights to hold the sudden flood of emotion while her mind tries to make sense of the confusing landscape reality has become. She takes a hand to her throat, slowly, paralyzed. She needs her other hand. She needs to choke herself to silence. But when her mind reaches for her other hand, it finds it grasping LaFontaine's tightly and Perry knows that feeling is real. Her mind holds on to the familiar bliss of their solid presence. The whole world is not sorrow. Their hand is here, and their voice, and even a faint smell of hot chocolate.

"Okay. Okay. Yes, you are right... Hey, are you alright? You are not going to cry, right?"

Perry takes a deep breath, fingers gripping the base of her throat. Then she lets her hand slide down to her chest and feels her lungs release the air slowly. She has not screamed. A man is dead, somewhere, but she will live, and he has taken nothing from her. It was not how they had told her it would be. It had made her sick, but it had not felt like fate at all. Fate is in front of her, and in one of the pages of the book on LaFontaine's lap, and she can't wait to find out which one. She looks up at LaFontaine, smiling, and squeezes their hand tightly.

"No at all..." Perry says. "I have never been better."


End file.
